


If Only In My Dreams

by desperationandgin



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fraser's Ridge, christmas on the ridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperationandgin/pseuds/desperationandgin
Summary: Jamie and Claire spend their first holiday together on the Ridge, and Claire teaches him a bit about modern Christmas.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 24
Kudos: 179





	If Only In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to all the readers who celebrate! I've wanted to give you all a little Fraser's Ridge for a while now, and this was the perfect time to do it. Thank you so much to my wife who read it first, who reads all my fic first and encourages me when I'm not very sure of myself.
> 
> Also, thank you so much to Danielle for quick reading this before spending the day with her family! I'm so incredibly lucky to have friends in this fandom that mean an incredible amount to me. Thank you all for being here and for reading!

Their first winter in their first home sees Jamie chopping wood more often than not in order to keep the fire going. The fact that it’s a holiday doesn’t matter; they still need warmth. But after splitting logs for over an hour, Jamie takes a break, letting his axe rest. Eyeing the horizon, he absently rubs one hand over his shoulder, rolling his neck and deciding to consider himself finished for the day. Once he’s loaded his tools and a bundle of wood onto Clarence, they trudge home together, snow lightly falling. The closer they get, the easier it is to detect the smell of something good and hearty cooking, and Jamie clicks his tongue, quickening his pace. Christmas Eve, and all that he wants is to be home now with his wife. 

He and Claire hadn’t ever managed to spend Hogmanay at Lallybroch, but here, they can celebrate holidays in the home he built for them, for _her_ , and she can teach him the different ways his daughter enjoyed this time of year. He’s thinking of her as he drops his bundle of firewood by the side of the house, then leads the donkey back to the small stable. Customarily, walking up the front steps of his home would have him removing his boots at the door, but tonight, his wife is waiting. That in and of itself isn’t unusual, but the fact that she doesn’t move to embrace him _is_ , along with the sly grin on her face as she stands just behind the threshold, beckoning him in.

“Welcome home,” she innocently announces, taking a very measured step backward.

For a brief moment, Jamie’s sure she’s about to ask him to remove his boots, but when she doesn’t, an eyebrow arches, one foot tentatively stepping inside their home, damp sole and all. “Ye seem verra pleased to see me, Sassenach,” he begins cautiously.

Barely out of the doorway, Claire reaches out, yanking him down into a hard ( _and quite thorough_ ) kiss. Without missing a beat, his arms wrap around his wife, yielding to her tongue until he finally parts from her with a shallow gasp. 

It’s quite an ego boost, she realizes, to make him breathless with just a kiss.

“No’ that I dinnae appreciate being greeted this way, but what have I done to deserve it?” Typically, a kiss that torrid is immediately accompanied by trying to undress him.

She grins, then simply shrugs innocently. “Do you _need_ to have done anything in particular?”

“Weel, no, but ‘tis a rare day when ye let me on yer floors wi’ muddy boots. Either I’m dreaming, or my birthday’s come sooner than I realized, and I ken I was born on May the first.” Even if he couldn’t remember the date, he’d met her the day _after_ his birthday -- a belated gift he hadn’t even known he wanted, then.

At the mention of his boots, the spell seems to be broken and she shoos him back to the porch. “Alright, you’ve had your time inside with them. Off!”

“Will I receive another kiss when I come back inside?” Jamie asks with a cheeky grin, sitting to unbuckle his boots, then tugging them off.

“ _Will_ you?” Leaning against the door frame, she tries to keep a neutral look of uncaring on her face, losing the battle to a grin that wants to turn into happy laughter.

Rising from the chair, Jamie begins unbuttoning his coat as he walks inside again. “ I think I verra well might, even if I still dinnae ken exactly what’s gotten into ye. I’m no’ sure I care.”

She’s laughing when she kisses him again, though this one is much tamer than the last, and when she pulls back, her nose nuzzles lightly against his. “Merry Christmas.”

He hums softly, finding her lips again before stepping back to remove his coat and close the door behind him. “This is a Christmas tradition, then? Cannae say I dislike it myself, but...does everyone participate?”

It takes half a second for Claire to realize he means _Brianna_. “We were under the mistletoe,” she informs him as she points up at the doorway. “You’re to kiss who you’re with, _but_ , a kiss to the cheek will suffice.” He’s such a father without even meeting Bree, and it makes her heart ache for a moment.

“I’ve heard of hanging it in homes. Weel, that druids do, to ward off evil and bring good luck. I dinnae recall stories of anyone _kissing_ under it, but I enjoy it. Anythin’ to have a reason tae kiss ye senseless.”

When he takes a moment to do just that, Claire gladly allows him to take the lead, melting against his chest until the sound of his stomach growling pulls her out of it. “Come sit down and eat, Jamie. Is it my turn to do the entertaining?” On the evenings they feel up to it, they take turns telling stories over supper; fictional or real, sometimes anecdotes from the past twenty years, and other times they share dreams of the future.

“Aye, though I’ll take my supper by the fire, if ye dinnae mind. My bawls feel about the same as when ye press yer cold feet to them.” He keeps going, even at the _look_ she gives him. “My shoulder’s aching a bit, too. No’ to mention my hand.” The cold weather isn’t kind to his body.

Claire shifts gears immediately, her face softening as she pulls a chair closer to the fire. “I’ll rub your shoulder while you eat,” she offers. “And your hand, after, if holding the bowl and the heat don’t loosen it up first.” She gets him settled, a bowl of stew placed in his hands before quietly tucking a blanket around his legs. Then, she moves behind him, taking a moment to drop a kiss to the top of his head. His curls are still cold, but she lingers a moment before beginning to rub his shoulder.

Quietly, Jamie eats ( _rabbit stew, one of his favorites_ ), then takes note of the wreath on the back of their door, the red bows and garland over the mantle. “I like the way ye’ve decorated,” he praises. “I’ve seen some of the same in town, ‘tis all bonny. But I enjoy even more that things are the same in your time, that Brianna would ken what all of it is.”

“There’s a bit more, like chopping down a pine tree and decorating it with lights and ornaments,” she explains softly.

“I’ve seen the trees in town,” Jamie perks up, recognizing what she means, but as he looks around their small home, he realizes why she hasn’t asked for one.

“In a year or two, Sassenach, ye’ll have a grand place to put a decorated tree,” he promises.

As her fingers find the place she knows bothers him most, she massages his shoulder, smiling to herself. “What I like about all of this, is that now I get to share these things with you.” Something she dreamed of for years, but never thought would or even _could_ happen.

Jamie hums in the back of his throat, a note of acknowledgment. “What sort of things did Brianna do for the holiday?” he asks, taking another bite of warm, hearty stew.

“Well, we would take care of the tree, then hang stockings over the fireplace to fill with small gifts,” she recalls, still rubbing his shoulder idly.

Jamie imagines it quietly before his eyes narrow and something from long ago clicks. “...Stockings. _A nighean_ , do ye remember three evenings after our wedding, our camp was ambushed?”

Claire looks down as she thinks, mostly recalling their inability to keep their hands off one another directly after their marriage. She’s touched though, that he recalls things from so long ago. “I think so. You said the horses were spooked.”

“Just before that, ye’d said stockings would be hanging by the fire for the Yule. I thought ye meant for laundry but now I ken ye meant somethin’ else.”

Letting out a bark of a laugh, Claire leans down to kiss the top of his head again, pleased to find him warmer now. “You have a memory like a bloody elephant. But you’re right. It’s tradition to find an oversized stocking and hang it on the mantle. The idea is that Santa Claus will come down the chimney and fill it with small toys and candy, you see.”

“Ah, aye, the jolly fat version of Saint Nicholas,” Jamie says dryly. “Did Brianna believe in such a thing?”

“What, Santa?” Claire squints in thought. “Not for long. She’s very clever, our daughter. The first year she was onto it, she was six and tried to stay awake all night. The next year, she very nearly caught me putting presents under the tree, but luckily, seven-year-olds don’t know much about stealth.”

“Clearly she wasna getting anywhere by trying to outlast ye through the night,” Jamie says as leans down to put his mostly empty bowl on the floor beside the chair. “I’ll wager the next year, she did something different.”

For a moment, Claire’s struck by how well this man knows a child he’d hardly had time to realize existed before losing her. But then, he’s only thinking of what _he_ would do, and it’s not a leap to assume Bree would have the same train of thought.

“She did, she outsmarted us. She wrote a letter listing everything she wanted and gave it to me to send to the North Pole.” At Jamie’s baffled expression over his shoulder at her, Claire clarifies. “It’s where Santa lives, you see.”

“I’m no’ sure why it matters, but I’m following,” he tries helpfully.

“Well, really, that letter was a list so that we knew what Brianna wanted for Christmas. What we _didn’t_ know was that she’d already written a letter at school that was supposedly sent to Santa.”

“She wrote two different lists?”

Claire grins at Jamie. “She wrote two different lists.” Sighing contently at the memory, she shakes her head. “Brianna does love Christmas, though. She loves decorating and all of the baking.”

When she goes quiet, Jamie lightly tugs at Claire’s hand to beckon her around, guiding her to sit on his knee. He pauses, not wanting to encourage the sadness, only memories. “What were typical gifts for her?”

Letting her fingers play with his curls, she hums in thought. “Toys, when she was younger, mostly. Clothes here and there that she was only interested in with age.” At five, clothing items were the most boring, but at fifteen, she never minded new clothes for the new year. “When she was older, she would ask for bigger things. One year, she asked for roller skates. I was worried she’d do nothing but break an arm or leg.”

“A dangerous gift?”

“Well, roller skates are a novelty thing for fun. They’re like shoes, but with wheels on the bottom, so that you glide on the ground.”

“Och, I’ve seen such contraptions, now that ye say as such.” They’re not a new concept, but they’re uncommon enough that Jamie has never seen them in action.

“When she was even older, all she wanted was money to go buy whatever she wanted, or to spend time with her friends.” And then, things were much quieter, just the two of them. She’d been at a loss for what to get a young woman who missed her father dearly, and so had settled on simple things, nothing truly sentimental.

Perhaps if she’d known their Christmases were limited, she would have tried harder.

Quiet for a beat too long, Claire clears her throat and meets Jamie’s eyes again. “She was always grateful. That’s the important thing.”

“I ken ye miss her all the time,” Jamie murmurs softly, thumb gliding along the apple of her cheek. “But it must be even worse, right now.”

Absently, Claire begins to rub Jamie’s hand, her thumb massaging his palm. “From October to January she was practically glowing with excitement when she was a little girl. She loved playing in the snow, even if her favorite activities were in the summer.” Claire could keep going at length about Bree, but she worries, sometimes, that it hurts Jamie, to hear of all the moments he couldn’t be a part of. She tries to pull back a bit, to make a connection between him and his daughter.

“She always laughed and yelped when I stuck my cold fingers into the collar of her coat to get to her neck,” she recalls with a smile. “Just like you do, when you aren’t swearing,” she finishes with a tease.

Jamie smiles softly to himself, leaning back in the chair to look up at his wife. “Did ye always like this time of year as well? Even before Brianna?”

“I only ever had a proper Christmas a handful of times,” Claire murmurs, her thumb gliding along his jaw idly. “I don’t remember any holidays with my parents. And with my Uncle, we observed whichever traditions were celebrated wherever we happened to be.”

And she hadn’t really gotten to celebrate a Christmas with Frank during the war, though she doesn’t mention that.

“So, it meant more to ye then, after Brianna,” Jamie notes.

“She made everything mean more.” The first Christmas especially, when Claire was only just coming out of a black hole of grief. Leaning forward, she presses her forehead against Jamie’s. “And now, I get to spend my holidays with you.”

“Aye,” he acknowledges, raising his lips to her forehead to press a soft kiss there. “I miss her, but it’s no’ the same. Ye have the memories, the _moments_ to miss.” He only has the idea of them.

“It might not be the same, Jamie, but it isn’t any less. You love our daughter as much as I do, I know it.” Letting out a soft breath, she closes her eyes and lets go of one more thought.

“I wish there were a way for her to know we’re alright. That you and I are together, and that we’re well.” Brianna wouldn’t even know to look for any history in America. As far as she knows, her mother is in Scotland.

Jamie has no good answer for her, but unprompted, he speaks quietly. “I tried to guess the best I could when ye’d be having our bairn. Couldna move or do much of anything while I was healing, after Culloden. I realized the _wean_ would be born a bit after your birthday. I chose a day and I prayed each year, tried to imagine what our child had accomplished already.”

_Of course_ he tried to calculate their child’s birth, and Claire’s heart breaks all the more with loving him. She kisses his cheeks as he exhales, then nuzzles her nose along his.

“Her first Christmas, she was barely a month old and still so small. I was always worried about her being too cold, that winter. New mother nerves, I suppose. I always held her in my arms, so bundled up that she was more blanket than baby,” she chuckles softly.

“What about that last Christmas?” Jamie asks, thumb stroking her hip idly over her skirts.

Claire takes a deep breath, then lets it out softly. “You mean the hardest one of my life?” She looks at him, eyes soft.

Abandoning her hip, Jamie reaches out to cradle her face, quietly tugging her closer until he can press a soft kiss against her forehead. The crackling fire in the room is the only sound filling the silence until he finally speaks once more.

“Ye gave up so much for me Claire,” he murmurs huskily. “If I could find a way to give ye all ye wanted, I would. I would bring you our daughter--” He stops abruptly, clearing his throat.

She knows if either one of them begins to cry it’s over for both of them.

“You _gave me_ our daughter. And she gave me back to you. I’ll have a hard time topping that Christmas gift,” she says in an attempt at humor, though her own voice is suspiciously thick.

“You were able to give her a good life, Claire,” he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek tenderly. “I enjoy hearing about it, about everything ye were able to do for her.”

Sitting up straighter, Claire reaches out to tug at one of his curls tenderly, sighing softly.

“Do you want to know something else about our daughter?” She doesn’t wait for his answer before continuing. “She would be cross with us for being gloomy right now. She would say _‘Mama, you and Jamie are together and you’re wasting time being sad when I’m totally fine.’_ ”

“ _Totally_ ,” Jamie murmurs, though the corner of his mouth turns up in a smile.

“Just like that. Only less Scottish.”

She makes him chuckle, and once more, their foreheads press together as he breathes her in.

“Thank ye for remembering her wi’ me.” He plants a kiss on Claire’s shoulder tenderly. Looking up, he meets his wife’s gaze. “Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”

Leaning in, her lips press to his in a soft, tender kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Jamie.”


End file.
